#others from finding out about sexy times?

[pencil-n-pen]

OVERWORKED

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

leon kennedy x fem! reader

summary: You’re still struggling with overworking. Leon shows you when it’s time to take a break.

previous (not required but gives some context)

cw: once again, female pronouns used but reader’s features are not described, some suggestive content, dom! leon much more heavily this time, very not subtle praise kink (use of good girl), pet names, tbh rating COULD be pg-13 but i don’t write nsfw so minors ur fine :) uhhhh non-sexual sub-space if you squint?

tags/tropes: once again hurt/comfort, cuddles, leon being touchy again (reader is just as touchy honestly) soft dom behavior (leon)

a/n: a little continued drabble for those of u who asked/liked the last one !! hope u like it @cherryandsugar <3

MY ELDEST DAUGHTERS WITH PRAISE KINKS MAKE SOME NOISE 🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️💯💯💯

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

You’re overworking again.

You don’t mean to, necessarily. It’s just always what you do. Work, work, work. It needs to get done, so you do it. No matter how tired you are, no matter how much you don’t want to do it. No matter how many tears get shed. It needs to get done. You have to do it. So you do it.

Leon’s been taking issue, with it though.

You’re not really sure what you are to each other, yet. He definitely finds you attractive —he tells you pretty much everyday, an almost overuse of words like hot, sexy, cute, amazing, and of course, his favorite; princess.

He occasionally comes over to the place you and a few other girls rent together and does his absolute best to be as distracting as possible. Sometimes he cooks, sometimes he gets touchy, sometimes he just sits on your bed and watches you work which is, in your opinion, by far the worst one.

When he’s not bothering you in the comfort of your own home, he’s sitting next to you in the couple classes you share, a distracting hand on your thigh that he squeezes when you get a question right— something that never fails to make you breathless and dizzy for a few minutes afterwards. Between the sight of his hand engulfing your thigh and the frequency of your correct answers, it’s a miracle you don’t asphyxiate during class.

You did come close, once. It was a week after what you’ve dubbed The Library Incident, and the professor had singled you out as one of his most consistent students when it came to turning in homework. Leon had leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and whispered, all low and rumbly:

“Good girl.”

You didn’t get a single thing out of the lecture for the rest of class.

(You’d then given him the silent treatment, but he made up for it by you sending you his rather extensive and detailed notes from the lesson with a single text: “Better learn to multitask, princess.”)

So yeah. He isn’t a huge fan of your studying habits. Something he’s made abundantly clear.

“When was the last time you got up?” He grumbles, walking into your room with your now full reusable water bottle. You’d abandoned it in the kitchen a few hours ago. He’s such a stickler about your water intake.

“Who are you, my mother?” You pause, looking up at the mischief in his eyes and the way his mouth is open, poised to say something, likely dirty. “Don’t answer that.”

You reach out with grabby hands towards your water bottle, which you know is filled with some delicious water combination, courtesy of Leon. Shit, he’s Pavlov-ing you into drinking water, isn’t he?

He rolls his eyes, handing you the bottle. “You know, you can make this exact same water yourself with the items in your fridge. Which I put there. For you. To use. Yourself.”

“You make it better,” You answer smoothly, ignoring his sarcasm. Ooooh. It’s minty strawberry today.

“Oh?” He says with a raised eyebrow, a signature Leon smirk on his lips. The same one he always gets when you admit to liking him in some way.

“You’re such an attention whore. Isn’t that why you came over here?”

“Ouch. So touchy,” He tuts, draping himself over your back and resting his chin on your head. “But no. I came over here to drag the lovely and beautiful and terribly stubbornly princess away from her desk because she’s overworking again.”

You tense. “I can’t, Leon. Not right now. I have to finish this.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“I get behind and then I can’t catch up and then I fail—“

“Woah, now,” He says, standing and spinning your desk chair so it faces him instead of your work. “None of that is going to happen if you take a break. We both know your work ethic is too good for that.”

You start worrying your lip between your teeth. “But—“

“Hey,” He says, a gentle, slow hand reaching out and brushing your lip away from your teeth. “None of that. Leave your lip alone.”

You wince. It’s a mindless action, the same way you pick at your hangnails and other parts of your skin when you’re stressed. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Just don’t want my girl hurting herself more than she already is.”

You ignore the latter part of his sentence and focus on the first. “Your girl?”

“Yeah,” He says, tilting his head and looking down at you with a small smile on his face. “My girl.”

You look down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I won’t be able to sleep or relax if I don’t finish this. It— I can’t.”

He takes the side of your face in his hand, thumb sweeping across your cheek and beneath your eyelid. “I know, baby. But you work too much.”

“But I have—“

“You have to, I know. I know you’re hardwired for independence and overworking. So how about this. Take a break, lie down in bed with me, and then finish only what you’ve already started.”

You start chewing on your lip again. “I—“

His fingers deftly move down to your jaw, grabbing it firm, thumb pressing on the edge of your lip and pulling it down, away from the merciless bite of your teeth. His grip leaves no room for argument, but you don’t feel frightened or scared. In fact, your stomach is doing flips at the careful, gentle control in the press of his hands and the fondness in his eyes.

“I know I phrased that very nicely, but this isn’t an argument, sweetheart. You need to rest. Your brain needs time to recharge. What happens if you get sick from all this working, huh?”

You decide now isn’t the time to bring up that you always work through every cold, flu, and fever you’ve ever had.

“Hey,” He leans down, catching your averted gaze. “Look at me.”

He could easily turn your head himself, his fingers still pressed against your jaw, but he doesn’t. He waits for you to muster up the strength to look over at him yourself, eyelashes fluttering.

His gaze is cool and deep when it meets yours. “I am not mad at you. I am not upset with you. I just want you to take care of yourself.”

His voice, gaining that low, rumbly edge when he ushers the words sends tingles up your spine. You sigh, letting the tension ease from your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’ll try harder.”

“You’re doing just fine, okay?” He pulls you up by your hands, hand leaving your face as he tugs you over to your bed. Once you’ve sat down, he reaches back towards your desk, grabbing your water bottle from your desk and putting it on your bedside table. “You just need a little help sometimes. Everybody does.”

He motions for you to scoot over and you oblige, immediately slotting into what’s become one of your usual positions: arms wrapped around his torso, head pillowed on his chest.

“There we go,” He mumbles, hand sliding under your shirt, intermittently squeezing the place his hands always seem to find: the squishy, vulnerable stretch of flesh in between the top of your hip and the bottom of your ribcage. He rolls the skin there in his hands, a pleased hum rumbling from his chest. “Such a good girl for me.”

You shudder, hiding your blush by pressing your face further into his chest. A tingle spreads from your spine to the rest of your body.

He chuckles. “Aw, you like that don’t you? Did the same thing last time. Is that all I have to do? Is that what you need, baby?”

A small whine rip’s itself from your throat before you manage to tamp it down. Embarrassed, you try and hide your face further.

“None of that, now. Come on, let me see that pretty face.”

You shift, rolling to basically lie on top of him, bracing your hands on either side of him to lift your head, a small frown on your face and a not-so-small flush across your face.

He smiles, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “There she is,” He practically coos, “My pretty baby.”

“You’re baby-talking me.”

“Mhm,” He says, squeezing your cheeks. “You got a problem with it?”

“…No.”

“What was that?”

You drop back down, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his chest. “Shhh. I’m supposed to be resting.”

“Convenient that you’re listening to me now.”

“Shush.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t say anything more. He slips his hands under your shirt, palming the expanse of your skin. His fingers are hot where they press and linger, warmth spreading from the points of contact. You go limp in his hold, humming contentedly.

You’re not really sure how much time passes with the both of you like that— bodies pressed close, legs tangled together. It just feels so… nice.

You relax. You actually relax. A small part of you feels annoyed that Leon is your source of comfort and relaxation (muttered whispers in your brain whine about independence, about not relying on anyone else—) the bigger, louder part of you is so overwhelmed with how nice it feels to just… not worry. Even for a little bit. In moments like this your brain goes pleasantly blank: Leon will take care of it. You don’t have to worry, because Leon will take care of it.

The stretches of time you spend in what you’ve mentally dubbed Limbo have started getting longer. At first, you’d last five, maybe ten minutes before your brain would kick into high gear again; worries and concerns flooding your brain so quickly you usually jolt straight up.

But now? It’s easy to slip into it. To let yourself take a mental break. Check out from life for a half hour or so. And when you’re ready to get back to work, you do just that- usually a lot calmer than before Leon came around.

It’s addicting. It’s dangerous.

“How long has it been.”

“Five minutes.”

You blink your eyes open, frowning. “It has not been five minutes,” You reach for your bedside table, snatching your phone off and checking the time. “Liar. It’s been thirty minutes.”

“Is it so wrong to want to lay in bed and hold my princess?”

“It is when the princess has work to do.” You grumble, sitting off and rolling off the bed with a thud.

“It’s so unnerving when you do that. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No,” You say, hauling yourself to your feet. “It’s fun.”

“I don’t see how sustaining bodily injury is fun.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” You say, waving a hand in dismissal.

Loud shuffling and the thump of Leon climbing to his feet has you looking back. “You’re leaving?”

You can’t quite keep the desperation out of your tone.

He looks at you, surprised. “Usually you don’t like it when I stay while you work.”

“Yes,” You say, cheeks burning. “Um. Yeah. Right yeah. I have work to do. So.”

“Princess,” He says, his voice low and teasing, “You want me to stay?”

“No, no I have to work—“

“Uh-uh,” He says, crossing the room to stand in front of you, arms folded. “No lying. Do you want me to stay?”

You look down at your sock-clad feet. “Please?”

“Aw, well how could I say no to that,” He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Finish your work. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“…Can we go get slushies when I’m done?”

“Of course, baby.”

You finish your work in record time.

˙⋆✮

[rubyvhs]

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, car sex (just fingering), angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them). 

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree. 

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way. 

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI. 

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean. 

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer." 

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way. 

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends. 

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times. 

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever. 

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one. 

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes. 

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers. 

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you." 

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth. 

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever. 

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw. 

"We— Dean, can't here—" 

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing. 

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right." 

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?" 

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance. 

"De, someone can see—"

"Don't overthink it." He says, burying his head between your breasts, kissing, biting, licking and loving all the noises you're making. He groans into your skin, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot that has you moaning out loud. "God, sweetheart, love that sound."

He moves his hands to your waist, thrusts his hips once, checking your reaction. A little tremor passes through you. Eyes hood over. 

"Can't believe you're here, and all for me." 

"Yes," you breathe, resting your forehead against Dean's, overwhelmed by his words and how close his hand is to your inner thigh. "Please."

"If I slide my hand up your skirt, will I find you dripping wet for me?" Another shudder shakes you gently. 

"Yes."

When he grips your knee and your neck, closing your lips with a kiss while his other hand travels higher, you start feeling your pulse hammering in your ears. The windows start misting over, giving you privacy— not that you particularly believe Dean cares. 

Dean moves his seat back, then pushes you until your shoulder blades hit the steering wheel so you're more comfortable, your legs bent on either side of him, hands braced against the door and his chest. 

"Dreamed about this," He says, his voice low and husky. The way his eyes are raking over your body, you're not even sure you're supposed to hear him. "Thought about this everyday for six years, sweetheart. Now I get to have you." 

He glides one finger between your lips, sliding up and down slowly. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans, eyes focused between your legs and you fall over, your head on his chest, before he pushes you back against the steering wheel, "nu-uh, wanna see it. Wanna see how wet you are for me, baby."

You have so much to say— a lot of apologies and 'I miss you's’ and so many more beautiful words and kisses and you want to tell Dean that you care about him as much as he does you and why you left—

He dips two fingers inside you. Curls them immediately, and just like that, he finds your most sensitive spot. 

You half pant, half moan, the words 'Dean, oh my god, please' a jumbled drowned-out mishmash because he starts torturing your clit, his thumb rubbing perfect circles, hard and fast, reducing your bones to liquid. But when you're right there, he eases away, lazily pumping two fingers in and out. 

He smiles, exhaling a content breath as his gaze zeroes between your thighs, ignoring your pleas. "Yeah? you wanna come, darlin’?" the pet name and the question both bring out a loud moan you didn’t know you were holding, your hips involuntarily moving against his fingers until he stops you. you’re about to whine again but he increases the pace, crooking his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm rips through you, powerful, relentless, so intense you think you might just black out. You’ve never felt so boneless in someone's arms, until your head falls right into his chest as he works your pussy, the sensation easing off and then coming again like waves crashing against the shore.

Dean doesn't stop. His fingers are rough, his thumb still being put to good use, and the release lasts so long. So fucking long you think you have an out-of-body experience. 

It takes a minute until you're able to breathe anything but his cologne. When you can, you sit up slightly and move into the seat next to him, thankful for the lack of a console to separate you since you don't get very far, just lay your head on his chest. 

He kisses your head. You can even feel his smile against the kiss until you notice the bulge of his pants and frown. You quickly get up and Dean's entire face falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—" 

Dean grabs your wrist before it makes it halfway to his dick. "This isn't an exchange, sweetheart." Your entire body is like jelly, you can't move and you're pretty sure if you try sucking Dean off, you’ll pass out. But it feels… rude. "You're spent. I'll get you home so you can take a hot shower, and we'll pick this up again when you're ready. How about that?" 

You can't fucking believe your luck. Dean wants an 'again'. 

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Hello my beautiful friend! I am SO ready to dive back into this series!

Right off the bat, the sexual tension with the gambling 👌🏻. I don't know what it is, but I always love in movies or shows or books when they have a poker game/card game between two people who are obviously into each other. I don't think it's a trope, but- the sexy smiles over the cards, the bluffing, the flirting, the teasing, just OH GOODNESS 😮‍💨

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too? You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

I'm not going to lie, I would have thought this to myself if I was in her situation. At the same time I feel bad for her because she has all this bottled inside and it's probably even worse that she's in close counters with him, just second guessing everything. BUT I also love that you've given us these wonderful domestic moments between the two of them. ❤️

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says. Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

DANG IT DEAN STOP HIDING FROM YOUR FEELINGS! Man really out there chopping wood trying to forget all his problems and relieve some tension 👀, while the reader is inside trying to educate herself🤣

The way you integrated John's journal into this chapter was so good! It adds on to the lore of the story. I'd never read through the official "John's Journal" merch so it was nice to see those little details and honestly made me feel more connected to the reader, because it was the first time that I was reading the entries too!

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

Girl it's okay we can cry together- DEAN WAS IN THE CRIB WITH SAM. Nothing is okay. I am made of tears. INCONSOLABLE 😭

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—” “Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating. “The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

No, NO, No. Dean NO.

Bad Dean!

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

AND he knows that she is supposed to be HIS. For the love of rice krispy treats! SHE HAS A BROKEN ANKLE DEAN. Don't let her leave!!!

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life.  Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate? You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Sweetie he's a grumpy old onion, you gotta peel him back one gorgeous layer at a time. 🤣

This bit is also so heartbreaking, because it's literally her meeting her mate and her believing that he doesn't want her, when it's probably all he does. There's something so raw about that. The idea of finding someone who was literally made for you and believing that they want no part of you. Oh goodness my fragile heart😭

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

I'm not going to lie, I wasn't expecting it to be a Bear. I literally thought this was going to turn into Dean saving her from a Wendigo- because of the allusions to her dad being killed by one, but this was such a (un)pleasant surprise LOL

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester: For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach. Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

I LOVE this insight into his head, just a little piece but enough for the readers to see that Dean does in fact care and that he does feel something for her! Not to mention again... HE PICKS HER UP. I've read Dean in so many fics doing that but each time it just makes me *swoon*.

And oh my word, him finally sitting down with her on the couch and allowing himself to let down some of his walls and let the reader in is just so good!! Not to mention now the reader is going to tell him the truth over how she lost her dad! I'm very excited to read the next chapter, but this one was amazing Alex! 🤗

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter. 💜

Dean Winchester Tag List

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma @sanscas @kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @iprobablyshipit91

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @mxltifxnd0m

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @samslvrgirl @tortureddarkstar

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

@jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean @k-slla @jackles010378

@deanbrainrotwritings @urfav-tz @alwaystiredandconfused @mrlonelycat @deans-daydream

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @aylacavebear

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @suckitands33

@winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @winchester-whiskey @spnbabe67 @cheynovak

@megara0224 @yoongi-holland @illicithallways @perpetualabsurdity @deansimpala

@jessjad @impala-dreamer @k4marina @atenea585 @king-of-milf-lovers

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @daisychaingirl @star-yawnznn @number1whorehome

@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @everything-is-all-clear

[persicipen]

𑑛 “KEEP AN EYE ON ME” ﾉ WRIOTHESLEY. GENSHIN IMPACT

performer gn reader ﾉ words 1.0k ᯽ bodyguard wriothesley. reader goes on stage — no specifics, so technically it’s still canon au and could be a singer, a dancer, an idol. very suggestive with explicit language but it’s only teased once ﾉ rewritten (old request) because i saw mooties talking about this :3 ᯽ SUGGESTIVE CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

Wriothesley shifts nervously from one leg to another, trying to shake off the itch of an unspecified feeling. Hand brushing through the hair, hoping to gather back his thoughts just like the matted greying strands, but to no avail. You’re not leaving his head, your mirrored silhouette sparkling in his silver eyes.

The way you move, hips swinging to the side and down just as the music gets low, makes him gulp down and blink. He has to make sure he’s not imagining it, for it feels too good to be true.

Then, with a pop, you break out of your routine, the special dance you had trained repeatedly in secret exclusively to surprise the crowd tonight, all while never going against the melody nor losing the perfect rhythm. He’s amazed by your ability to become one with the sound, something he could only dream about.

He’s just here to observe you, but other than that — any possible interruptions or unpleasant events, such as nagging fans or worse. Standing still, silent, and leaning on the wall behind the scene where he can get just a glimpse of the grand performance; he’s cautious. Only pretending to be relaxed, a small part of him is enchanted and enjoying your view while the rest is ready to act. Just in case. He never wishes for anything to happen. The less work there is for him to do, the better for everyone around him.

Yet he lets his mind wander to what-ifs. His fingers tap lightly against the metal buckle of his pants, playing with the leather strap on the side of his thigh. How would you move to a slower song? Does your body still find harmony with this kind of cadence too?

Of course, it does. It has to.

You’re so hardworking, there’s probably nothing you wouldn’t be able to do. But currently in promotion are more dynamic performances, and you have to bounce across the stage, elegant and beautiful like the sight of a deer in the forest — almost magical if not for the heavy instruments buzzing through all the surfaces.

Despite everything, the shine in your eyes and the curve of your smile remain unmoving as ever. You’re captivating, stealing hearts and bringing people to tears of joy. You’re a star that gives them all the happiness they need.

And he’s no different. He sees you as the perfect being. It doesn’t matter if it’s the persona you use on the stage or the one that becomes you when you slump against him after every exhausting performance, mumbling how proud you feel and ranting about the soreness of your body, and other stuff like that. Truly, just incoherent babbling — but he loves to hear everything, making sure at the same time that you two won’t get caught by any pair of prying eyes.

(He always thinks about that, so you don’t have to.)

As the mood slightly changes, the tunes mellow down. Not as much as Wriothesley would love to hear, that would be too good — and you bend down on your knees as you prepare for the next piece. It’s the one he called the sexy one when you were sharing the plan with him a few weeks ago, something you giggled away and shushed him immediately, not wanting to agree out loud.

But it was true. And the live dance was no better.

So now he has to endure watching you twirl on your toes, arching your back, sliding your hands along the curves of your body, all that sensual shit that drives him crazy and yet— and yet he cannot do anything about it, just taking the spectacle as it is, so thrilled to be able to see it from a different perspective.

It’s almost burning, this feeling inside, as his thoughts involuntarily drift off towards lustful imagination. Could it be possible to ask you to do the same move that you just did, but right in front of him? Or maybe even on his lap, the one where you crouch down innocently just to act provocatively once again?

Damn, that would be so hot. He has to clench his fist to calm down and return to the present moment.

When you at last walk offstage after another successful performance, your footsteps sound strangely satisfying as they click-clack down the corridor. There is no doubt about the fatigue and thirst in your expression, yet he has a feeling that you wouldn’t ask for a break aside from a quick few minutes to cool down and change your outfit.

Sweat glistens on your skin, sticking to your hair, making you sparkle in the harsh lights of the changing room. You’re beautiful like that; it’s the sweat of success and because you’re doing something you love. It’s not the same sweat when you stress over something or get sick and have to stay wrapped in hot blankets to fight off the illness.

Nonetheless, it feels nasty, so you quickly grab a towel and hug it closely, tapping gently on your face so as not to ruin your makeup. The cool and soft fabric works wonders on your excited body.

You tell the others it’s just a quick trip to the bathroom, while in reality, you glance towards your bodyguard, and that’s all he needs to know. He thinks that if you could only give him even a light kiss on the cheek, that would be enough, that would make him happy and fill him with a new surge of motivation. Oh, that would be so great.

But everything is different…

As soon as there are just the two of you, he pulls you close, failing to control his rapturing emotions. No, of course, he will not do anything stupid now — you only have a minute or so for him, but he wished for it to be untrue. His lips barely graze against your temple, leaving a tender peck there; you hear his low and velvety voice whisper right into your ear some words.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard later tonight…”

And that’s the only praise that makes you genuinely know that you did exceptionally well on the stage.

[actuallysaiyan]

The First Time(Aka How Nanami Kento Lost His Virginity)Chapter Seven: Reunion

warnings: breast play, smoking cigarettes, mentions of male masturbation, slight awkwardness from both parties pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: summer is done and you return to school for the next semester. though you are a little nervous about being around Kento, he shows you that he's made some changes. and those changes are all to your benefit. a/n: SO SORRY for the literally month long delay! I so hope everyone enjoys this chapter! More to come soon, that I can promise. This series gets finished this year, I promise! also check out the soundtrack for this fic here!

taglist: @cherryblossombankai @kenpachisbrat @benkeibear

@harlekin6 @brokennerdalert @marikuchanxo @gennaray

@sugurusprettygirl @hazzelle-kento @pixelcafe-network

Masterlist

Summer passes by in a flash. And though everyone is sad to see it come to an end, you’re more than happy to make your way back to university. After the phone call, you and Kento tried your best to stay in contact all summer long, but it wasn’t always easy.

So when the first day of school comes around, you find yourself fussing over your looks more than usual. You had spent the last few days in your dorm, fixing up things and placing posters in the right spots. Despite your parents wanting to spend even more time with you, they had done their job helping you settle into your dorm room once more.

Then once the reality of everything dawned on you, that’s when you began to realize that you were actually going to see him again. Kento Nanami, the man who stole your heart. You wondered if maybe things would go smoothly. But on second thought, you were sure that there would be lots of awkwardness at first.

Even just thinking about the phone call made your stomach turn. It had been so sensual and sexy; truly something to remember forever. Just the sound of his voice had you going. You remember just how sticky your fingers had been as you played with yourself to the sound of his gorgeous voice.

And when he came, he had moaned so beautifully. You missed the sound of his voice. You missed his timid but cute smile. The smell of the cigarettes he smoked. You wanted to wear his hoodie and show the world that you were deeply in love with Kento.

So the first day back to class, you resolved to talk to him. You were going to make sure that you at least said one word to him.

The issue? You found yourself even more shy than before.

Both of you had clearly put a lot of thought into your looks today. You don’t think you've ever seen Kento so dressed up like this before. His blazer was properly ironed, his hair was actually out of his eyes for once and his skinny jeans didn’t have any holes in them.

You had also bought some new clothes for class. You were hoping that he would notice. It wasn’t like you to wear a dress, but this one had been just so beautiful. The long sleeves hugged your arms, which you always hated to show off. It came down to your shins. The color was such a dark black, and it only proved to make you look much more mature than you thought yourself to be.

And yet, despite the new clothes and the renewed sense of wanting to talk to one another, it just never happened. Too much talk of the syllabus and class planning and other people catching up with one another. You longingly looked at Kento from your spot across the room. You swore you caught him looking at you a few times as well, but you didn’t want to believe it.

The first few classes went by in a blur, and you held out hope that you’d talk to him. Every single second, you thought about what you’d say first. But nothing ever came up and you just couldn’t find the right time.

So as the first day of the second semester ended, you were mentally cursing yourself for being so ridiculous. How could you not just go over to him and say hi? He was just a man, not some alien from outer space trying to harvest your organs.

“Girl, you need to just go talk to him.” One of your friends said as you left the last class of the day.

You two are walking towards the dorm building. The way she could just read you so well was what made you nervous. If she could see it written all over your face, could everyone else see the same?You shrug; you’re without answers.

“He’s over there. Now go!” She shoves you in his direction.

You make your way over to him, your whole body shaking as if you were a child afraid to go down the slide. He looks up from his notebook, and there’s a soft smile on his face when he spots you. You approach him and clear your throat.

“Can I sit with you?” You inquire, pointing at the empty spot next to him on the bench.

Nanami blushes. “Y-yeah! Sure, sit down.”

You sit on the bench, watching as your friend gives you a thumbs up. Then you turn to look at Kento. He’s still writing in his notebook, but when he feels your eyes on him, he closes it.

“Hey, uhm…” you start but he interrupts you.

“You look good. I like that dress on you.”

His words turn around in your mind for a bit. Your cheeks are burning. Even though he just complimented you, you feel like all eyes are on you. You bury your face in your hands. 

“Wait, what did I say? Did I say something wrong?”

You shake your head, finally uncovering your face. You reach over and kiss his cheek, which in turn makes him blush now. You two look like a couple of kids in love.

“Thanks, Ken. You’re a gentleman.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I’m just me.”

A comfortable silence falls on the two of you. You reach over and grab his hand, making his blush further onto the tops of his ears as well. He looks at you with such a soft and tender look in his eyes, it makes your heart skip a beat.

“I really missed you this summer,” you confess.

“I missed you too.”

Your eyes lock with his and then he’s leaning in. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. Then Kento leans in to capture your lips in a tender and loving kiss. Your breath hitches in your throat, but you melt into the kiss.

It’s almost like all the feelings you had for him were spilling out into this one kiss. When he pulls away, you’re the one chasing his lips this time. He smirks as a sudden wave of confidence washes over him over that little move.

“So,” he says as he fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He places one on his lips, then one on yours. “We should go out on a date.”

You smirk as he lights up both smokes at once. “Deal. Time and place?”

“Friday night, your dorm.”

That’s all it took for you two to plan a quiet night together.

Friday night comes around and you’re more than nervous. It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve hung out with Kento. Just knowing how things will go, your heart keeps fluttering in your chest. You’ve done all you can to keep calm, but it’s proving to be almost impossible.

The knock on your door has you getting up off the sofa and rushing to the door. You smooth out your shirt and swallow hard before opening the door. Kento stands there, looking more confident than ever. He hands you the beautiful bouquet of wildflowers.

“Wildflowers for my beautiful wildflower.”

Your heart clenches in your chest. Here you were thinking you’d have to start from scratch with him, but it seems like the time you two spent apart seems to only have pushed you two even closer together. You take the flowers and invite him inside.

“I ordered take-out,” you tell him as you smell the flowers.

He comes over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You feel the definition of muscles against your back. Kento nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, nipping so softly.

“I’m glad we decided to do this,” he whispers. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all summer.”

You blush and smile. “I feel the same.”

He lets you go, allowing you the chance to put the flowers in a vase. You place them near the window where they can get lots of light. Then you return to your lover, guiding him to the couch. On the coffee table is a spread of your favorite foods.

“You really planned out everything perfectly,” Kento says.

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. You giggle as you rest on his chest. The food is quickly forgotten in favor of sweet, but chaste kisses. The kisses that turn into something hungrier and sloppier.

“It’s finally time for me to make you feel good.” He whispers as his hands snake up your shirt.

You moan against his lips as he plays with your breasts. He tugs on your nipples perfectly, making need pool deep inside of you. He kisses you tenderly, continuing his ministrations on your chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. Kento pulls away only to be able to pull the garment off your body.

With your breasts bared to him, Kento shifts on the sofa and adjusts his hardening cock in his tight jeans. He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My beautiful angel,” he moans as he cups your breasts. 

His lips trail all over the swell of your tits before he captures one of your nipples between his teeth. The look of love in his eyes has your stomach erupting with a million butterflies. You’ve never felt this way before.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groans. “Jerked off to thoughts of you all summer, baby.”

The thought of him stroking his cock to the thought of you has your panties drenched. You part your thighs a little, allowing one of his hands to slip down the front of your sweatpants. He smirks when he realizes you’re also not wearing panties.

“So wet, just for me.” He murmurs against the softness of your chest.

His fingers work you up quickly to your release. Your breath hitches in your throat as the coil in your stomach is tightening so fast. There’s so much warmth inside of you and it spreads all over as Kento rubs your clit in perfect little circles.

He stays attached to your nipple, suckling and flicking the pert bud with his tongue. The look in his eyes is intoxicating, especially since he looks at you like you’re the perfect sex goddess made just for him.

“K-Ken,” you moan. “I’m cumming.”

He doesn’t even have to say anything. He watches you as you come undone. Your cheeks warm, your lips parted as you moan his name. Your thighs are shaking from the intensity of the pleasure. And he loves the way your nipples are so hard right now.

Slowly, he helps you come down from the intense high. Kento smirks when he pulls his fingers from your pants and they are covered in your juices. Something changed within your lover, and it’s for the better.

“Told you I’d make you feel good next time we saw each other.” He says as he licks his fingers clean.

“And it was good to count down the days.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2025– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[unknownperson246]

a/n: would you write about older!izzy x duffs!daughter where she’s seducing him & they have sex & duff finds out?🤭

HII I love this idea and here you are: also sorry it’s so late I haven’t been able to write as many as I’d like to but anyway I hope you enjoyyyyyy:

Modern Izzy Stradlin: I Need You:

Words: 1,701

Warnings: *smut* *p in v* *thigh riding* *age gap* *masturbating* *cussing* *fingering* *dirty talk*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

You were Duff Mckagan's daughter. He just came back from a tour with Guns N’ Roses. Over the past few days, he’s just been relaxing. Within a few days of his arrival, he calls Izzy Stradlin up. You’ve always had a small crush on him when you were a kid. You’d try to get his attention non-stop when he was over at your house with your dad jamming in the studio. He was the coolest man you’d ever have seen. This time Duff invited him for dinner because they hadn’t seen each other in ages given how busy Duff was with the band all five of the original members created together. Duff looked jet-lagged most of the time he came back from long plane rides but something was different. He was excited and his face was glowing. He couldn’t wait to see Izzy. Your dad sat you down and showed you a couple of pictures of the band back in the day.

“You know back when you were 5 you loved Uncle Izzy” Duff patted your hair.

“Yeah, I know Dad,” You said.

You were embarrassed by the fact that your dad brought that up. You knew it was a little girl crush. You did not think about it any further and you went upstairs and changed into a sexy outfit because you were planning to sneak out with your friends. Even though you were 18 you were embarrassed about your parents finding out you did that stuff.

 Surely you knew Duff would understand because he was a chill father. You just didn’t have the guts to tell him because you’d know he’d be worried about the stuff happening there. Plus you turned 18 ten months ago which meant he would have to start trusting you more. 

Your plan backfired when Izzy rang the doorbell. You were trying to sneak out the window but you’d just see Izzy when you left. Instead, you made a new plan to open the door and slip out. You answered the door and there Izzy was. He was wearing a black suit. He looked the same as he did 4 years back but he had a few more wrinkles on his face. He looked more desirable to you. He looked good for a man in his early 60s. He was a tall handsome man. Your crush on him came rushing back. He looked handsome. His cologne hit you in the face. You started to blush slightly. You forgot the plan to slip out and wanted to cancel it. You needed Izzy. 

“Hi,” Izzy said, smiling and looking down at you.

“H- Hi.” You stuttered. You were getting shy and nervous. You were flustered. You were attracted to him.

“Come on in,” you said, being polite and hospitable to your guest.

“How have you been?” You asked Izzy.

“I’ve been good. What have you been up to Y/N?” He asked, looking you up and down in your sexy outfit. 

You forgot what you were wearing until you noticed Izzy staring at you. You started to blush again. You wondered if he forgot your name but to your surprise, he remembered. You ignored that and answered his question.

“Nothing much.” You said to Izzy while walking at a slow pace so you both had time to catch up.

“Dad is right down there,” you said, taking him to Duff.

“Dad guess who's here?” You said in excitement.

Duff did not like your outfit but he did not want to say anything in front of Izzy. 

“Izzy,” Duff said, getting up.

“Hi,” Izzy said, hugging Duff.

They both walked over to the dinner table and started chatting about life.

“Hey sweetheart, join us for dinner,” Duff said.

“No Dad, it's okay. I already ate” You said to Duff. 

“Hey sorry Izzy I’ll be right back,” Duff said, looking at Izzy and smiling. 

Duff walked you out of the room and walked you upstairs to your room.

“Honey please change out of that outfit.” That’s all that Duff said to you. 

“Sorry, Dad I was planning to go to a party but my friends canceled the plan,” You said to Duff. 

It was part truth and part lie. You were going to go but when you saw Izzy you changed your mind.

“I didn’t have enough time to change, Dad,” you said to him.

“Just be careful next time,” Duff said. 

“Okay.” You said.

Duff left the room and you decided not to change your outfit since you weren’t going downstairs. You were miserable. You wanted to go downstairs to see Izzy so bad. Your dad was the only excuse you could go downstairs and see Izzy. You were too shy to go. You knew there was one thing you could do.

 You pulled out an old picture of Izzy from online and started to rub your clit. You started to lightly moan his name. Soon you started to finger yourself while imagining they were his fingers. You hit your G-spot multiple times. 

“Oh Izzy” You moaned. Your eyes went back and you heard the door open. It was Izzy. 

He caught you masturbating to a picture of him from the 80s back when he was in Guns N’ Roses. You were frozen in that position. The silence was awkward.

“I’m so sorry I was trying to find the bathroom.” Izzy broke the silence. 

He was bewildered and didn’t know what to say after his best friend's daughter was masturbating to a picture of him. 

“It’s on the right next to my room,” you said, turning red and you quickly got out of your position. 

You were so mad at yourself that you did not lock the door.

“Fuck this lock.” You were mumbling.

As soon as Izzy went in the bathroom you had a wicked idea. You do not have any shame anymore. You're done with everything. You wanted to be risky because there was fun in that. You waited outside the bathroom door and waited until Izzy was finished. He opened the door and saw you standing outside of it. 

“Izzy,” you said quietly.

At first, you started to seduce him by showing him your tits. Then you showed him your midsection. And then you held his hand and took him to your room. Izzy was embarrassed and shy about this. He didn’t know what to say. Soon this whole thing turned into a strip tease. 

“I’m 18,” you said while you were almost done stripping for him. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.” you chuckled.

You sat on Izzy’s lap. You were fully naked. You had no bra or panties on. You sat on his lap with only your black glossy high heels. Izzy started to touch your clit just like how he saw you touch yourself. 

“Is this what you wanted you little whore?” Izzy whispered in your ear.

You started to get wet just with his whispers with his husky voice in your ear.

His two fingers glided in you with ease. It was like his fingers were made for your needy cunt. 

“You wanted this right darling?” Izzy whispered again. 

“Yes Izzy” you moaned as he kept hitting your g-spot with the tip of his fingers.

Izzy’s bulge got bigger and needier when he started to touch all the sensitive parts of your body. You noticed this and chuckled. You started to palm his growing bulge underneath his pants. You kissed his neck while undoing his belt. He groaned at your kisses. He started to push you off of his lap.

“Y/N I should get going Duffs going to get suspicious,” Izzy said, trying to take you off of him.

“But won’t Dad notice how big your dick has gotten?” You asked bluntly. 

“Come on.” he tried to convince himself to get up and leave before the two of you got caught.

“You know what I want to do with you, Izzy? I want to make sweet love with you. Don’t you want that?” Your desperate words finally had a hold on Izzy.

“Get on my lap again,” Izzy said. He was in a hurry.

He laid you down on your bed and started teasing your clit again. He was climbing on top of you. 

“Oh,” you moaned quietly.

He fully took his pants off. His hard cock was dripping with pre-come. You wanted to suck it all up. He started to grope your big melon-sized tits. The tip of his fingers went around your hard nipples. He started to pinch them. He went down to your neck. He left a couple of hickeys in the process. His thrusting went faster and deeper inside of your sensitive hole. 

“I love you” you moaned accidentally.

You heard soft pants and grunts from Izzy. 

“You're beautiful, did you know that?” Izzy asked while groping your tits and thrusting inside of you at full speed.

“Izzy fuck me faster” you demanded as very loud moans and cries left your mouth. 

“Shh. Your dad will hear us.” Izzy’s hand left one of your tits and transferred to your mouth to keep you quiet

Tears were leaving your face as Izzy finished up and came inside of you. 

Izzy was trying to leave in a rush. 

“See you later. And make sure you don’t get pregnant” Izzy said, getting dressed up in a hurry. 

“Maybe I will. I like the idea of having your baby.” you smirked. 

Izzy finished dressing. 

You kissed Izzy on the lips for a long time. 

“Next time you come I have a surprise…” you left it at that to get Izzy excited and to make sure he comes back to see you next time. 

Duff started to come upstairs and he saw Izzy leaving your room. 

“I heard moaning coming from upstairs,” Duff said with suspicion. 

Izzy got all red and embarrassed. 

“Let’s go downstairs.” Izzy insisted.

“Okay,” Duff said. 

“Did you have fun up there?” Duff asked, getting slightly pissed off. 

“How did-“ Izzy said. 

“I’m not dumb,” Duff said.

“I think you should leave,” Duff said, giving Izzy a firm handshake. 

Izzy was upset about how Duff found out but he started to have a crush on you too. 

[yeahiwasintheshit]

i think i watched this movie like, trick, from 1999, 8 times over the last month, i "rented it" thru kanopy (for free) and you have like 72 hr access to it, so i watched it 4 times then "rented it" again and watched it again every night i had it lol im not sure if ive seen this movie since i originally saw it like in 2000. maybe once or twice, but its pretty good.

it really is a very sweet, cute movie, and is pretty different from the other queer movies of the mid-late 90s that primarily dealt with coming out. this is about 2 guys who are looking for a place to fuck, and cant find it and end up realizing they actually like each lol its not perfect and theres some (i think) purposefully cheesy moments, but i appreciate the cheese.

and it has miss coco peru giving a scene stealing monologue that is really hilarious.

definitely worth watching for the almost innocent doris day-esque romantic comedy aspect, but also some pretty sexy scenes with jp pitoc and his incredible body.

Trick (1999) // dir. Jim Fall

[drdemonprince]

I think think about your piece How to Go Places Alone And Not Feel Like A Freak Looser (or something to that affect) quite often.

While it is uncomfortable, tiring, nerve wracking, to feel like or be the odd one out, I am at least used to the feeling. It takes nerve but (especially as a kid/teen) have always gone to things alone and, once I get over myself, enjoy not caring what anyone thinks about my presence.

As an (ever transsexualizing >:) adult, I am getting back into doing & dressing however I want in public (embarrassing yourself is inevitable, might as well enjoy life!). This is a funner, freer, outlook, but I hoped being more myself would help me find my people.

I’m used to the awful feeling of being an alien freak looser (real or imagined) so I can hype myself up to be in my own world when I’m out. But I wonder if doing this, and choosing events based on interest instead of demographics or friendship, reinforces my felling of disconnect with people. It’s easier to accept, and dress like, I’ll always stick out (be alone) than it is to imagine mimicking those around me.

I went to an explicitly cruisey new years night and instead of studying the crowd intensely trying to fit in, wore my shiny platforms, smiled at people, and danced just for the fun of it. Feeling good about myself and enjoying my experience requires an ‘eh fuck ‘em’ attitude. I can enjoy being in public seeing all my fellow earthlings but it does not feel social. And I realize, my time there felt anything but sexy. I wasn’t about to walz into the darkroom (let’s walk before we run), but I hate that I couldn’t feel comfortable in this place I’ve always wanted to be.

I return to the same questions everywhere I go: I can exist, but how am I supposed to learn the codes of a space when I can’t study (ruminate) from afar?

How could I ever be social when (even joyous and embodied) I can’t get out of my own head?

How do you know when it’s time to listen to your gut and when to play into a social game?

I understand what you mean about the duality between doing your own thing in your own little alien bubble and actively placing effort into connecting with the people around you (which often feels like it requires masking).

But, from my perspective, both of those are strategies for dealing with social overwhelm -- one is more dissociative, and the other's more compensatory. Both of them reflect a discomfort with the people in the space. And they're both perfectly reasonable ways to deal with such feelings! But the way to move forward, at least in my experience, is to continue attending events until you attain enough familiarity with them that you actually start feeling more comfortable.

You said you didn't feel sexy at this cruisy party, and certainly weren't ready to venture into the dark room. That's fine! You can work your way up in whatever order of activities is least intimidating to most intimidating to you.

The first few times that I go to a club, I need anywhere from a few minutes to an hour to get warmed up enough to really dance on the floor and take up a ton of space and make weird gestures. I spend a lot of time lurking in the corner or reading a book at the bar at first. After I've been there a number of times, I know the deal of the space better, recognize a few people, maybe have developed a rapport with the door guy or a regular, and it gets easier to branch out and feel more at ease in my skin. People intuit this and approach me more often when I'm feeling more comfortable, and my reactions have fewer exit ramps built into them (one of my protective instincts is to throw out a lot of conversation-enders that make people feel rejected, lmaoo good one me).

The same general principles I've described here can apply to any new social challenge, including a bar with a backroom where people are fucking. Show up again. Do your thing. Maybe find a spot to post up and observe, since you mentioned an interest in doing that. Bring a book or some knitting if you want, and wear whatever outfit helps you feel comfortable and good with yourself. The first few times you do all this, people may get strong "I'm Doing My Own Thing Leave Me Alone" vibes from you, as they often do from Autistics, and that's fine. You're still learning and acclimating from being there. After a couple of tries, head into that back room. It's not as exciting as you think it's gonna be. You might get to watch some fucking or you might just see a bunch of guys pacing around who are just as awkward as you feel that you are. But then you'll know what it's like. And then you just keep showing up, and observing and participating in small ways (watching is participation in a sex club!), and you'll get steadily more involved in the space and connected to the people each time that you do.

I've been going to pet patrol nights for a long time and I've only just now gotten to the point where I can chat up random people and get into hookups relatively easily, instead of just standing around mutely hoping someone will approach me. Bringing friends has helped a ton to relax me and make me seem more approachable to others, too, so you could try that!

for anyone wondering here's the full piece

[toomuchbirth]

Birth Quickie 4:

Boy

My best friend was having a hard time focusing on the movie we both were watching.

I couldn't really take your eyes off him. He was still just Brandon. I met the guy at work a couple years ago, started hanging out with after he moved into town. We’d both just clicked, and it was great.

Then he started getting real snappy with me out of nowhere a few months ago. I asked him what his deal was, and he told me to fuck off. I basically hadn’t talked to him or seen him since.

Until today. I got a call, he asked if I could come over, hang out. He said he really needed a friend today, someone he could trust. Before I hung up to head over, he made me promise not to freak out. Most important, I couldn't tell anybody what I saw.

He had poked his head around the door when he opened it. Motioned me in. “Ok man, what the hell is this-” I began, but stopped as I turned around to see him.

God. He was… it was… His favorite, biggest shirt didn’t even come close to covering the huge, hairy mound that was hanging off him. He still had his beard and mustache, arms still hairy and muscular. He was still in jeans.

“I think I’m having it today.” He said, unable to meet your eyes, one hand on his belly. “Uh… c-congrats?” I stammered out, just taking in the sight of him. I could see he clearly was exhausted already, he waddled gingerly away from the door, sat heavily onto the couch, motioned for me to come over.

“Heh. No. Not really a ‘congrats’ kinda thing. More a ‘What are you gonna do now.’ Damned if I know. I’m just so fuckin’ tired, man. I need this thing out of me. I need my life back.” His voice cracked. He blinked rapidly, still not looking at me. I couldn't stop staring at him. *He looks so good like this…* my brain told me, which I tried to ignore. *Imagine how he looks naked* was a follow up, which caused a familiar, shameful aching between my legs as I tried to remind myself he was my best friend and he clearly wasn't thrilled with his appearance.

“So. Uh… the… other dad?” I asked, and Brandon grimaced. “No other dad. Not even one, I’m not this things dad. I’m just gonna have it here, and then I need you to make it just… go away, ok? I have work tomorrow, I can't deal with finding a shelter or dropping it at a hospital after it comes. Fortunetly, I- Oh… fuck!” His words crushed into a pained growl. The pregnant orb shrank visibly as he held it. “Fuck… fuck… ok, ok, just… mngh…” he blinked rapidly, trying not to let tears come.

I watched Brandon have a contraction. God, I watched Brandon have a contraction. Brandon was pregnant. As the muscles relaxed, I asked “so… is this a, ah… magic thing? Or were you…” he waved me off. “Trans. I WISH it was magic. Wouldn't have been like this so long, probably. Might have even had a choice if it happened.”

My mouth went dry. “Was… God, Brandon did somebody-” “Shut it. You know enough. I’m about to push this thing out, hopefully soon. You’re gonna do me a solid, and take it away, and then I’ll pass out and head to work tomorrow. Then we never mention tonight again. Ok?”

What else could I say? My best friend turned on the movie and we both pretended to watch it. Or at least he did. I couldn't stop staring. *He’s so sexy.* My mind helpfully provided, as he groaned in pain again, holding his belly. *He’s about to have a baby, right here in front of you. You’re about to see everything!*

I ignored the thoughts. Tried to, at least. But I couldn’t stop drinking in his every curse and whimper. Noticing how his whole body flexed and strained with each contraction. It was breathtaking. His hands gripping the couch or his belly. The way his expression scrunched, his teeth grit, trying not to cry as his labor got more intense.

“Oh man… this one is big… they’re so close now… this is happening, man… it’s so bad!” The handsome trans man growled, and I watched him start wrestling at the waist of his pants. Trying to undo them.

“How close are they?” I asked, my mouth dry. “F-five minutes…” he forced out. “Help. Feel like I gotta use the bathroom. Think it means it's time. My body is.. trying to trick me… into pushing… God it hurts!”

I moved around in front of him. Ran my hands over his hairy belly. It felt so good… firm and full, the hair soft. Moved them down to his jeans. Undid the knot holding them shut, and the zipper opened on its own. He’d refused to buy maternity clothes, just getting more pregnant in secret. I wondered how he’d hidden it so long. It seemed so obvious like this.

I pulled at the laboring man’s pants and boxers. I could see pubic hair. Could see the swollen lips of his vagina. *It's so perfect…* my mind chimed in. *I want to touch it. This is so sexy… I get to watch him have a baby!* I shook my head and kept piling down, exposing his legs, until Brandon was naked from the waist down.

“It's so strong… I keep fighting it… it hurts, it hurts so bad!” The poor guy growled, before spreading his legs, and… pushing. God, Brandon was pushing… I couldn't believe it. His face was stunning, a scrunched mass of pain and effort. His thighs quivered and shook as he pushed. I moved into position, guiding his feet up to my shoulders, kneeling on the floor as he sat on the couch. I could feel how hard he was bearing down. See everything.

He hated this.

I loved this.

I watched as, push by push, his crotch bulged with the head. He groaned constant swears as, slowly, those damp, puffy lips began to part. The glistening of a head peeking out from inside him. Then opening him wider. Wider.

“I don't want it, I don't want it, It’s not fair!” He sobbed, unable to hold back anymore. “I never wanted a baby! It's so bad, it hurts so much! I didn't ask to get pregnant!”

What could I say? There was nothing behind vague support that could help. So I gave it. Telling him to be brave, be strong as he did the most amazing, beautiful thing I'd ever seen inches from my face.

He couldn't stop. Barely had time to breathe between contractions. The whole head gushed free. The shoulders bulged him even worse, but those too slipped out, the body slipping from his most intimate place.

I did as he asked, without a word. It was the least I could do after Brandon showed me something so amazing. Even if he didn't realize how much I would enjoy it.

He invited me to hang out a couple weeks later. We didn't talk about what happened. He was my best friend again, like nothing had changed. But I couldn't ever really see him the same way again…

[newkatzkafe2023]

Yooo

Do F from Alphabet Lore

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

(Lmk Wukong) You were in a way a fighter, but he was definitely taken a back by how hostile you are. He remembered meeting you and how happy and innocent and kind you were, supporting him and fighting alongside him. Now, when he got back to you, you were ruthless, violent, and short-tempered. Wukong trends carefully around you, especially when you become quick to snap at people, but he learns that the whole time you just missed him.

(MKR Wukong) OH WOW!!!!!! YOU WOULD GIVE HIM A TASTE OF HIS OWN MEDICINE!!!🤣🤣🤣 like he thought he was the confrontational one that was until he met you. Wukong feels the irony in your relationship, finding himself, preaching to you about your violence and temper. Not that he's totally wrong after seeing you cold-cocked pigsy for breathing too loud around you. He has to step in a lot because of how you were quick to escalate the situation. When he learned about your back story, he vowed to show you that he won't stab you in the back, too.

(HIB Wukong) WOW are you very hostile and violent? It's always hands-on sight when it comes to you and Fly into fights. Bruising asses left and right. You were also quite hostile, not liking Wukong, his kids, or anyone at the matter quite close off. Wukong knows better than anybody what's its like to be rejected, and Humiliated, so he worked hard to help you heal from your trauma by accepting you along with Luier and Silly girl.

(NR Wukong) Well he never thought you would be about that life, just like him. Though He quickly saw how serious.You can be when you are provoked or felt like you were wronged. You were it f*ck around and find out was a female monkey with sharp jagged teeth, Wukong quickly learned how vengeful you can Actually be and Don't care how far you would go to get even. Wukong had to calm you down and offer support and comfort.

(Netflix Wukong) He would bring Trouble, you would bring revenge. Wukong quickly found out that you were the very definition of hands on sight, like you would fight into fights faster then he would. Wukong understands what's its like to be bullied and hurt by strangers and those who's supposed to be your friend. So Wukong made sure to show love and appreciation of everything you do and help you with your trust and emotional pain.

(BMW Wukong)................WoW in theory this should be sexy, But he struggling to enjoy himself. You have him genuinely wondering what happened to you that made you soo...ruthless and wrathful. You would look so hot covered in blood of the people who screwed you over, but if he's saying your over doing it then something is totally wrong. Wukong then learns that you were abused and bullied in your childhood, and definitely were reprimanded for retaliation. So Wukong would watch you be the sh*t out if people, but makes sure that you don't lose control.

(Destined one) At first he felt you had to be the nastiest, rudest demon he's ever met. Now he things your just angry and need love and Support, you were always quick to throw hands and insult others. The Destined one being one of those people you tried to push away but he was smart enough to feel your emotional wounds. So the destined one never took your harshness and violence to heart and neither did Zu Bajie. The Destined one loves you hostility and all, and over time you finally trusted him.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[goayda]

What if… in a modern AU where Ed and Izzy are happily married they decide to try that open marriage thing they have heard about and see what happens.

So Stede and Ed start dating and they both join Izzy for a drink one day because those are the rules apparently (‘Izzy just wanted to know I’m not dating a psycho, mate’, ‘Really?’, ‘Yeah, jury is still out, Bonnet, let’s see what you order at the bar’). And Stede thinks Izzy is kind of blunt and surly, but he is also funny and smart (and very, very hot) so they end up having a few drinks some other time or even lunch one memorable day and everything goes well.

And one day, Stede and Ed are having a walk on their way back from a date and Stede is using Ed’s phone to take a pic of some really beautiful wildflowers he has just seen because his phone’s battery is mostly dead and when he checks the gallery to see if the picture looks right, Stede ends up seeing something that almost makes him drop Ed’s phone.

It’s a photo of Izzy. A photo of a bare-chested Izzy lying on a bed, smiling at the camera, looking so relaxed and so sexy that Stede bluescreens for a moment and doesn’t even notice that Ed is talking to him until he looks over Stede’s shoulder to see what has him so distracted and the man starts laughing.

“I knew you thought Izzy was hot!”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry, I swear!” Stede says mortified as he gives him the phone back.

“Don’t worry, man, I believe you,” Ed replies, grinning. “Also, that’s not a ‘no’.”

“Of course, he obviously is,” Stede admits, because how can he pretend when he is blushing furiously.

“And you’ve simply seen his chest, man,” Ed says, excitedly scrolling down the phone. “I’ve more pics here somewhere.”

“Ed, I’m not sure that…“

“Do you want to see a pic of his dick?“

“Ed!”

(It was not that Stede wasn’t interested, he was simply worried that Izzy wouldn’t want his ‘private’ photos to be shared like that, but Ed immediately explains that it’s not a problem because Izzy finds Stede hot too and would be ok with it and Stede bluescreens again.

Things escalate quickly from that point and soon Ed and Izzy are trying that throuple thing they had also heard about with Stede.)

[cloudlessly-light]

Pretty as a vine (One-shot)

A/N: So, I think there is no secret that I prefer Dom/top Aaron, but I’ve had this idea stuck in my brain for weeks now and so, sub Aaron is here. I know it’s unlike most of my other stuff, but I hope you guys still like it!  

Title: Pretty as a vine Summary: He got everything that he craved because he worked for it, his undeniable focus and need for control always working in his favor. He wanted control in all aspects of his life. Except one. Word count: 3,6k   Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, dom/sub play, coloring system, dom Emily, sub Aaron, oral sex, orgasm control, femdom, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, begging, restraints, dirty talk

Aaron was a man who craved control. He always had. It had begun in childhood, as he watched his father completely lose control of his drinking, of himself, Aaron had vowed to never become like him. So he worked for what he wanted, he wanted Haley and he got her, he wanted to become a profiler, he made it happen, he wanted the unit chief position and he got it. He got everything that he craved because he worked for it, his undeniable focus and need for control always working in his favor. He wanted control in all aspects of his life. Except one.

She comes in like a tornado, her wide eyes and innocent expression just a mask to hide the ambition lurking underneath. When his marriage falls apart she watches silently, studying him as his unrelenting control slips for a moment. But she never says anything, never shows that she knows more about her unit chief than she lets on.

As time goes on they fall in lust, something neither of them are surprised about because the attraction had been there from the start. And it’s not long until lust turns into love. It’s the type of love Aaron didn’t think he would find and Emily had never really believed in. It was the feeling of knowing you’d found the right person. Their relationship evolved and it works out better than anybody had thought. It works because he knew her better than she knew herself, and she knew him just as well.

It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that as much as Aaron craved control in all aspects of his life, he also had a need for release. Luckily for her, she craved control in the way he didn’t and as she watched him beg for her with downcast eyes on his knees before her, she knew that she’d never experience anything that made her feel that powerful, that sexy.

No one knew about that part of their life, no one would ever even think that Aaron was capable of submitting in that way. It was part of the rush for her, that even if he was her boss during the day, she knew that with one look he’d give in to her. She proved that to them both frequently enough, he’d give her an order in the office and she’d arch her eyebrow as she stared him down. It never took long before he would find her alone, asking for her forgiveness.

The weeks when they were away on cases for more than a couple of days would always end up with them frenzied at home. The need to forget about what they’d seen and the need for release usually creeping up on them by the time they were heading home. Especially since he wasn’t allowed to come while away on cases, a rule she loved and he hated that he loved.

Today was no different as Aaron was driving them both to their apartment as he tried to ignore Emily’s hand dangerously high on his thigh, the tip of her fingers grazing his crotch through his slacks.

“Color, baby.” She asks as they stop at a red light, less than ten minutes away from their apartment.

“Green.” He mumbles and her hand grips his thigh tight enough to make his hiss.

“Louder.” Her dark eyes stay on his face when he turns to look at her, a flush already on his cheeks as he swallows harshly.

“Green, Ma’am.” His cock twitches at the way she smirks, something dark hiding beneath the curve of her lip.

“Good, pretty boy.” She cups his cheek, then slaps it gently when he makes a sound resembling a whine at the loss of her hand on his thigh. “Don’t get greedy. Now drive.”

She doesn’t touch him for the rest of the drive, more than happy to watch the tenting in his slacks.

By the time they get home she knows he’s desperate for her, for her touch, her approval, anything she’ll give him. He watches silently as she takes her coat off, followed by her boots and when she nods he copies her and hangs up his coat and kicks off his shoes while she takes his briefcase and puts it on the side table.

“Come here.” She beckons him and he immediately wraps his arms around her when she pulls him into a messy kiss. The satisfied sigh that leaves her is swallowed up as he opens his mouth to her demanding tongue. “Let’s go upstairs.” She mumbles against his lips once she pulls away, letting him have her close for another few moments. He nods, fingers trembling against her hips with need.

She feels him close behind her once she turns to walk to their bedroom, can feel his desperation radiate off him and she feels satisfaction in every nerve ending in her body. She loved how easily he submitted to her, how needy he would get, especially after almost a week without any sort of release. While he wasn’t allowed to get off while on cases, she was so if they had the energy and the focus, she would use him in whatever way she saw fit, and once she was done he’d be on edge and wound up. This trip she’d gotten four orgasms and he was so horny he felt like he was vibrating with it.

“Do you think you’ll be able to keep from touching me tonight?” She asks once they reach the bedroom even though she already knows the answer.

“I’ll try.” He avoids her intense stare and when she clicks her tongue he knows she’s unhappy with his answer.

“Restraints it is.” She mutters lowly, a slight edge to her voice. She pushes him back against the bed, her touch demanding as she grips his tie in one hand and his hair in the other, her strong hold tugging on his dark strands.

“Get naked.” She orders him as she cuts off his air for a second, her grip on his tie unrelenting. When all he does is nod mutely her lips curl into a menacing smirk. “Pathetic, aren’t you baby?”

"Yes I am." His voice is barely a gasp, as he rushes to get his clothes off the second her hand lets go off him. Once he’s naked he looks at her for direction and she wordlessly throws a pillow on the floor at the end of the bed. His cock bounces between his legs as he kneels on it, hard as steel and flushed red, the tip glistening. He’s delirious with the need to please her and when she finally starts to undress his mouth goes dry at the sight of her. She keeps her bra on, something he hated and she knew it.

“You look so pretty on your knees for me.” She sits in front of him and brushes her hand through his hair. He hums into the touch, his eyes closing as she rakes her short nails against his scalp. Then she grips it tightly again and he sucks in a breath as he looks up at her with wide eyes. “What’s your purpose?”

“To please you.” He answers quickly and her hold loosens slightly.

“That’s right.” She spreads her legs wide, her slick shining on her thighs and he licks his lips. “You’re going to make me come with that talented tongue of yours. But don’t you dare use your hands, if you do I’m not touching you for the rest of the night.”

He whimpers and she arches an eyebrow at the way his cock twitches and precum leaks from the tip.

“Poor thing.” She coos, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she pulls his head closer to her with her hold. “Get me off, baby.”

He wastes no time, his tongue desperate in his need to please her. He sucks her clit and licks inside her as Emily moans above him. His hands are clenched hard to keep himself from reaching for her, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. All he wants is to pull her closer, to feel her soft skin under his touch, to feel her clench around his fingers. But he knows that her threat would become a promise if he tried, so instead he focuses on her clit, sucks it between his lips and flicks it with his tongue.

Aaron was an expert on her and her pleasure, had spent hours to learn her body and what made her fall off the edge. He uses his knowledge to his advantage and it doesn’t take long until her thighs were closing in around his head and her hand tightens in his hair as she holds him against her and moves his head the way she wants.

“Good, just like that, right there.” She muttered through harsh breaths and low moans. Then his teeth grazes her clit and he sooths the slight pain by sucking it back between his lips and she’s coming. Her entire body shakes as she moans and curses as the pleasure rocks through her body.

He continues until she lets go of his hair, and then moves further down to lick gently through her folds until she’s completely relaxed and mewling above him.

“You’re so good at that.” She praises him with a lazy smile on her face. She helps him up and pushes him back on the bed, before bending down to grab his tie from the floor. “Hands above your head.”

“Please, I’ll be good-” He starts but she’s quick to cut him off.

“Hands above your head. You know you won’t be able to control yourself, you’re too needy.” When he still hasn’t raised his arms above her she gives him a warning look that makes his entire body feel hot. “Now.”

He slowly lifts his arms above his head with a small pout, but the finality of her tone forced him to listen. He keeps his eyes on her and sucks in a breath when she straddles his waist to tie his hands to the headboard. She grinds against him with a satisfied hum, dragging her clit against his abdomen and he groans at the feel of her slick against his heated skin.

Once she was satisfied that the knot was tight enough without the silk digging into his skin she straightened above him. She cupped his cheek to make him look up at her, her eyes softer than they had been ever since getting home.

“Color, Aaron?”

“Green, fuck Em, green.” He pants, his entire body shaking with pent up frustration and arousal. “You?”

“Green.” She smiles and then presses a gentle kiss to his lips before moving further down his body until she was straddling his hips instead of his waist. When she looks at him again all traces of gentleness are gone and she plants her hands against his chest to keep him down.

“Please.” He breathes and she grins, something menacing and cruel as she grinds against his hard shaft.

“Please what?” She grabs his chin forcefully with one hand.

“Please let me feel you.” He begs and she snickers at him. The humiliation of it only made him want her more. Then she suddenly wraps her fist around his shaft and his hips buckle into her touch. It was the first time she had touched him in almost seven days, and he knew he wouldn’t last long.

“You really are pathetic, look at the mess you’ve made.” She scolds him as more precum drips down his shaft. He whines, the sound breathy and low and she hums. “But I’m going to be nice, because you’ve been good for me, such a good boy.” With that she sunk down on him, taking him as deep as she could as Aaron bit his tongue to keep from whimpering.

“You feel so good.” He gasps as she starts to move, his eyes fastened on the way she lifts her hips up and down on his lap.

“Eyes on me.” She still hadn’t let go of his chin, and when his eyes, dark and desperate find hers she smirks. “What do you say?”

“Thank you for using me Ma’am.” His hips buckle and she tightens her grip on his chin.

“Careful now, wouldn’t want this to end early, would we?” She arches an eyebrow and shakes his head for him as she continues to ride him, her hips moving faster. She knew he was already struggling, could see it on the way his body tensed and eyelids fluttered closed in pleasure. It had been a long time since she’d had him this wound up, and she planned to take advantage of that. With that thought in mind, she lets her hand move to her clit and she circles it with two fingers as she sinks down completely on him and stops moving.

Aaron groans loudly, his eyes on her as she sits there, taunting him with a filthy smirk on her face as she rubs her clit. His cock strains inside of her, her tight walls feels like wet silk around him and it feels so good finally having some relief.

“You’re being so good for me, baby.” She praises him as she leans back slightly, the hand not between her legs supporting her body by grabbing his thigh. “You want to come so badly, don’t you?”

“Yes, please.” He grits his teeth as she started to move back and forth on his lap. “Please let me come.” He begs and it only makes her chuckle. The humiliation of it makes his cheeks flush and his cock twitch inside of her as she grinds back and forth on his lap.

“Not yet.” Her hips buckle as the heat of another orgasm starts to build inside of her. She circles her clit faster, grinds on him a little harder and Aaron gasps.

He tries to hold out, his hands fisting above him as his entire body trembles with the effort. But she’s moving faster, her pussy is starting to clench around him harder and she’s moaning, and writhing on his lap. Emily on top of him was always enough to get him off, but today he knew it would be close to impossible to keep himself from coming before they had barely begun.

“Hold. It.” She warns when his groans start to get too loud and when he whines the power rush she feels settles right between her legs. “Don’t you dare fucking come until I tell you.”

“Please, please I can’t…” His body twists in an effort to hold off in an effort to please her and she grabs his chin again.

“Do not fucking come.” Her tone is low and threatening, even on the brink of orgasm and Aaron swallows down another whine and instead nods. Satisfied, she grinds down harder on him, her release only getting closer as she watches him struggle. He’s straining beneath her, his entire body shaking and tense as she uses him for her own pleasure. When she comes only a few minutes later it’s with his name falling from her lips, her back arching and hips buckling wildly on his lap as she rides out her high.

Aaron bites his bottom lip hard to keep from falling off the edge with her, his teeth almost breaking skin as he watches desperately as she comes. His mind is deliciously full of her, times like these the only times he gets to truly relax and not think because his sole focus is on her, and what she wants. And right now all she wanted was to see him suffer. He knows that it’ll only be a few more seconds, that no matter what he wouldn’t be able to hold out and when Emily relaxes and sits back, no longer moving he feels his hips push up on their own, searching for friction.

“Good boy, you did it.” She pushes her hair out of her face and leans down to kiss him. “You’re doing so good, baby.” Her lips graze his as she speaks and he chases after her when she sits up again, huffing at the restraints around his wrists.

“Please, move, I can’t, I need to come. I have to come.” He mumbles desperately and she gives him a condescending smile.

“I know.” She starts to move again, rides him steadily, lifting herself up and down until she finds a rhythm she likes. Aaron is groaning and gasping, his jaw slack and eyes closed tight as his fists grab the headboard in a death grip. “You can come.” She tells him after another couple of seconds.

The words are barely out of her mouth before his entire body buckles and trembles. He yells, the sound deep and rough as she continues to move above him. His head is spinning, his body covered in sweat as he comes so hard he’s sure he’s never going to come down from his high. The pleasure is close to numbing, finally getting the release he had been craving for days. He’s gasping, his body twisting as she continues to ride him, drawing out his pleasure until he collapses against the bed. But she doesn’t stop, instead she sinks down harder on him and his eyes find hers.

“What do you say?” She slows for a moment to let him catch his breath.

“Thank you for letting me come.” He mumbles, close to delirious as he relaxes on the bed. He hears her low hum and then he feels her hips start to move faster. His spent body jerks underneath her.

“W-what are you doing?” He gasps and feels her tighten around his cock.

“You wanted to come, didn’t you baby?” She chuckles at the way his dark eyes turn wide at the realization as she continues to ride him.

“Fuck, please.” He hisses as the immense pleasure he had felt slowly turns painful as she uses his overstimulation for her own gain. Her movements keep him hard inside of her and she bites teasingly at his throat, her lips curled into a smirk. When she straightens she’s looking at him with something close to arrogance and his jaw clenches tightly as she starts to play with her clit again.

“You can give me one more, I know you can.” She tells him as he shakes his head. “I’m not done, so you’re not done.”

“It hurts.” He gasps and her head falls slightly to the side, fake sympathy on her face.

“I know baby.” She emphasizes each word by a twist of her hips and Aaron grunts. She doesn’t stop, instead she rides him faster as he lets her use him. He relaxes the best he can, and when the sounds from him become breather and lower she knows that he’s starting to enjoy it. He always did.

He can’t keep his eyes off her. She’s the sexiest woman he’s ever seen, especially high on power and right now she was close to bursting with it. He watches her abs clench and the way her jaw turns slack as she starts to get close again, almost ignoring him in her pursuit of a third orgasm. He wouldn’t have it any other way. His hips start to push up to help her and she gives him a knowing look as she smirks.

“That’s it.” Her voice is breathy and low as she speaks and it makes him groan softly. She leans forward and plants both hands on his chest to ride him faster and his head falls back in pleasure. “Do you want to come with me?”

 “Yes, fuck yes can I?” He whispers, the words rushed through panting breaths and when she nods he sighs in relief.

“Do it.” She tells him simply as she chases her own release. She’s oversensitive, her muscles burning from exertion and then he starts to fuck into her, his knees bending and feet planted against the mattrass as he helps them both reach the edge. She screams out as she comes for a third time, her entire body tensing as she falls forward. Her teeth bite into his shoulder when she feels him come inside of her for a second time, the heat of his release only prolonging hers. She’s utterly and completely full of him, a feeling she loved and as Aaron hissed in pleasure she lets her body slowly relax on top of him.

“You did so good, honey.” She whispers against his ear as her touch turns softer. “So good.”

His mind is reeling, his body heavy from pleasure. He stays still as they both take a moment to come down, then Emily shifts above him and moves to untie the tie around his wrists. He doesn’t say anything as she inspects the skin of his wrists and kisses each one gently. Then she grabs a bottle of water from the dresser and gives it to him to drink. When her eyes meet his, they’re soft and she lays back down.

“I really needed that.” He tells her, one arm wrapping around her to keep her close as she settles against his side.

“Me too.” She kisses his chest. “Are you okay? What do you need?”

“I’m more than okay.” He promises and pulls her closer until he can press a kiss to her lips. She stays close, her touch gentle as she scratches her fingers through his hair and down his chest until she shivers and he’s quick to cover them with a blanket.

“How about a bath? And then pizza and a movie?” She asks as she relaxes into his body.

“That sounds perfect.” He smiles and she watches the relaxation on his face.

Their lifestyle might not be for everyone, but for them it was perfect.

[scorchedthesnake]

All There Is.

On March 7, 2011, I arrived fairly reluctantly to a dilapidated block of 27th Street and queued up for some show my friend John O’Malley was working on. All I knew was that I was going to “chase sexy dancers around a warehouse” or something like that, and it all sounded ridiculous. I couldn’t have known then that my life was about to be changed: that I was going to find the synthesis of many of my niche intellectual interests; that I’d fall in love and have my heart broken, repeatedly; that I’d gain an appreciation for an entire new wing of the arts; that I’d make friends who would reshape my heart and my life; that I’d launch into a social media venture that would secure me a major career change. What if I had known any of this would happen?

It’s incredible to me that nearly fourteen years have passed since that day. Fourteen years is longer than any romantic relationship I’ve had, longer than any job, longer than any program in a university. Longer than my time in a cult. Other than swimming, which I’ve done for 35 years, it’s the longest commitment I’ve ever had to enthusiasm for anything. And it strikes me as especially incredible because at the outset, it was likely to be a very, very temporary thing. A six-week limited engagement, to test the waters and hopefully succeed enough to fill out the first lease, so there were long-term ambitions, but by no means was radical success guaranteed. But as the Boston run had prefigured, the show indeed hit at just the right time, and just the right place, and became electric. 

Why It Worked

As we come to the end, I want to think for a bit about precisely why that happened. Over the past year, there’s been some space to debate the reasons for Sleep No More’s success versus the alleged failures, or at least disappointments, of The Burnt City; and what this might mean for the possibility of Life and Trust repeating the achievements of its predecessor. The opening of Life and Trust has also opened some debate over which entities can most appropriately lay claim to the credit: the creative partner, Punchdrunk, or the producing partner, Emursive. It’s clear that you don’t get a nearly 14 year smash hit without an extremely productive relationship, even if it is, and always has been, replete with tension and conflicts. That creative tension is probably one of the very ingredients of success, as the artistic vision must be brought into balance with a sustainably profitable operating plan.  

But to think that elements like “great choreography” or “murky narrative” or “efficient management” are really behind what made Sleep No More a phenomenon is to both drastically miss the point and bark up the wrong trees. The conditions for Sleep No More’s success, in my view, are the combination of two main elements: first, the concept of the intellectual property itself; and second, the timing of the show’s opening into a specific cultural and media environment.

When The Burnt City opened, early audiences felt like something was missing. In my review I wrote that

“desire is not a currency here. At SNM and TDM, there is a sultry suggestiveness amongst the characters and between them and the audience. At The Burnt City, everyone is too busy being dead, being robots, being dead robots or sacrificing their children to uncaring gods to have much space for suggestive glances and come-hither looks.”

It remains clear as day that the allure of Sleep No More, and its lasting value as entertainment, stems from, frankly, its sexiness. The show was unrepentantly horny from minute one – and, it has to be said: not because of its nudity. The nudity, in fact, is found in some of the least erotic sequences in the show. The atmosphere, however, is sexually charged and ready to pop: that it never really does, that the “orgy” is more violent than sexual, that the sex is mostly suggested, or suspected, is the actual magic here. 

Naturally, this has led to some real difficulties over the long run. On the one hand, audiences, well removed from just immersive enthusiasts and Shakespeare nerds, took heed of the motto “fortune favors the bold” and did some reprehensible things; management was slow to support and better protect performers from the worst of these offenses. Further, the culture of sexual expression in 2011, libertine and aggressive coming out of the preceding recession, gave way, in concert with generational change, to newer, more conservative attitudes. At launch, Sleep No More was a millennial playpen; it now lives in a Gen Z world, alongside films devoid of sex, opposition to sexual content as some sort of impediment to plot, and the anodyne world of the reiterative superhero industrial complex. 

But sexual suggestiveness is what made the whole place sizzle, whether we like to confess that or not. Sure, the worldbuilding is engrossing, the dancing frenetic, the soundscape exquisite – but this whole time, people have been going for vibes. And the vibes, especially in those crazy first few years, were laced with the possibility that sexual adventure could be right around the corner – even when, the whole time, it really wasn’t. As a byproduct of the tension between the art and the entertainment of it, it’s extremely flattering for us as fans to act like we are unmoved by our erotic imaginaries and only compelled by our allegedly higher aesthetic and critical impulses. The broad success of the show – its ability to cater to people other than us nerds – and the party culture that has accompanied it, show this to be an error. 

It’s why The Burnt City just wouldn’t last – a beautiful and meaningful show for sure, but not very fun. Not sexy. Life and Trust suffers from this a bit less, but has another problem that Sleep No More never had to contend with: it’s not cool. And this is the thing that really made it possible for Sleep No More to run and run and run: it was, and is, extremely cool.

How SNM got to be cool is the big question – it was certainly by design, but relied massively on timing, luck, and the right media mix in the launch period. First, it had novelty on its side. Very few people had ever seen anything like this (sorry Boston, you’re not people! But at least in this case, for once, you were definitely tastemakers). Second, the show relied at launch on word-of-mouth and celebrity interest, using principles that we now understand as influencer marketing. Remember, at the time: Instagram was only a few months old and not yet ubiquitous. The show cultivated a reputation as dark, sexy and mysterious, and the mask meant the famous could go along for the ride. In those early days I remember: Leonardo DiCaprio, Orlando Bloom, Paris Hilton, Matt Damon (standing in line like a normie), Elijah Wood. Lauren Ambrose walking up and inquiring about entry. It was only a matter of time until there was critical mass of celebrity exposures for it to hit headlines, and sure enough: Neil Patrick Harris’ long excited rant on Regis and Kelly marked the show’s true arrival. Smartly, there weren’t even ads. There was barely a presence on the major social media platform of the time (Facebook). This wasn’t a show for plain people, it was a show for people in the know about what was cool and unique in New York – and that mythology of scarcity and exclusivity worked wonders.

By comparison, on the day ticket sales launched for Life and Trust, there were a couple hundred immersive theater geeks lined up at Conwell Coffee House to buy them. That’s not a fault of that show – the media environment is completely different now; the Coffee House was smartly pre-launched and pitched to influencers to build interest and intrigue, but: without the novelty factor, this has all had a dull impact. Is it cool to anyone to know what “another mask show from the producers of Sleep No More” is, in the year 2025? Hardly. Whereas SNM had its wheels greased, Life and Trust has an uphill battle for cultural relevance and mindshare. At least The Burnt City had a long-cultivated community of Punchdrunk die hards in place for it, and as the creative side, a certain amount of house loyalty that Emursive now has to earn on their own.

This Fandom

The relationship of Sleep No More to its fan community, is, obviously, a topic I care a great deal about. I have never been part of a fandom before. I did not intend to create a fan community of any kind when I launched this blog, and fortunately we had other early Tumblrs that took on that role. The great beauty of the early years on Tumblr was that the platform allowed each enthusiast to create whatever kind of appreciation worked best for them. In my case, the joy in that came from curation and collection. Others showcased beautiful fan art, others wrote vivid recaps, others answered questions and cultivated community. And, importantly, Tumblr allowed everyone to do so at whatever periodicity worked best for them.

I can’t take credit for the idea of being a Sleep No More fan on Tumblr. That is owed to whoever it was that created fuckyeahsleepnomore (remember when the archetypical Tumblr was named in that format, fuckyeahwhatever? Fuckyeahpaulzivkovich, fuckyeahwillseefried, fuckyeahnatecartershair, we could have driven it into the dirt if we wanted). Some of the things I did on this blog became paradigmatic conventions of being a fan on Tumblr: pick a name with some textual significance to the show; write some stuff; repost from the tags and try to find other enthusiasts. I think the other thing that happened, significantly for the emergence of our fandom, was that my proximity to the show strengthened the notion that being an online friend to the show could gain you access to the people involved.

I came into my close relationship with the production through a mixture of early arrival, connections, a certain amount of goodwill from the blog, and, it has to be said, some gay men’s privilege. Jenny Weinbloom spotted me early as a frequent visitor. John O’Malley facilitated some introductions. My pre-Scorched essay “A Sword Between Banquo and Me” made the rounds over email. After my fourth show, I became really comfortable talking to performers, particularly after the Saturday late show when everyone gathered in Manderley until 4am. When the first round of new cast arrived, it included two people I had previous connections with: I had met William Popp at a swim practice, and my best friend had worked with Tony Bordonaro on a soap opera. We were all young gay New Yorkers and our lives already intersected substantially. So it didn’t seem so weird that we were at parties together outside of the show, occasionally hanging out, and having very casual, friendly relations.

In those early days, there were basically no boundaries, and the kind of access early fans had to the show and the performers would really stun fans who’ve come in since, say, 2016 or so. It was magical, and problematic. No one really knew how to navigate being at the epicenter of a cultural phenomenon, and the early fans were along for the ride. As dancers, the cast weren’t particularly attuned (and neither was I) to the vicissitudes of Broadway stagedoor fan culture, and to the extent that crept in slowly, began to make plain how unsustainable that chummy closeness was; more recently, conventions of East Asian fan behaviors, gifting in particular, has also come over. All of this feels alien to me, but I think the lesson there is that 2011-2013 was just an extremely abnormal time, a kind of whiplash from the sudden fame of the show (which did not, directly and personally, extend to its cast, whom the show kept extremely shrouded).

Sleep No More learned how to program for loyalty very, very late in the game. The Salons, which I’ve been to, and the roundtables, which I have not, have been really wonderful gestures toward community engagement that would have been unthinkable in the early years, and Ilana Gilovich deserves tremendous credit for championing and moderating these events. In my own personal case, I’ve had small but meaningful gestures over the years: the invitation to the MIT Media Lab experiment, some helpful assistance from the Box Office (though not here at the end!); a warm welcome back at the end of my long unemployment. But the chief benefit of being a fanboy was never anything that came from the production, it was that I made friends of performers and staff, and that gave me a currency in the early and middle years that I greatly enjoyed. It’s almost fully spent now.

Tumblr’s deletion of pornography largely killed the platform, and the latter generation of Tumblr fans gradually moved into the Second Age of their fandom like I had when this blog first concluded in 2014. Over the past year of repeated extensions, permit issues, and complicated preemptive mourning, I’ve dipped my toe into the new homestead of Sleep No More fandom, which is now on Discord. Whereas Tumblr was petty and cruel, the Discord tends to be prudish and overprotective; but these differences are generational as opposed to platform-oriented, and are the product of a fandom reacting to a different kind of relationship with the admired object than what we had in the early years. The Discord is also deliberately and explicitly communitarian, which is something else extremely alien to me, and very much the opposite of the egotism of the Tumblr era, but has been a great comfort for its participants through a year of confusion and uncertainty. For my part, I have found peace and joy in seeing the fandom grow well beyond me and develop mores that I just don’t understand. That means progress has come along.

My chief regret over all the years is the tendency of fans to be excessively deferential to the show. Far too eager to not offend, far too unwilling to criticize. It’s okay to say something isn’t good, or that you don’t like a performance. It may shock people to know this, but in my one conversation with Maxine Doyle, she herself commented that the show had not been good that night. It happens, and it’s useless to shine the apple of pretending otherwise. Nor do we get points for white-knighting for Emursive’s miserable management, or trying to rationalize terrible creative decisions like axing all the Manderley characters. Our fondness for something is well-reflected in our ability to articulate flaws, errors and poor choices, and I wish we had all been better about this all along. 

What it all meant for me

The Discord’s moderation has suggested that it will be deleted some time after the show closes; and so Tumblr’s longevity in the post-porn era is truly its most astonishing feature. This means that, barring another upheaval or change of ownership, this blog will endure on the internet as a relic of what Sleep No More was. If you go back to the beginning and read it forward, you will get the fragmentary tale of one very naive, overenthusiastic ex-academic moving to New York City and living out his own little Bildungsroman inside an immersive theater production. I am really pleased that so many of you came along for the ride, and that these confessions of my younger self – embarrassing as they often now are when I look back at them – can do a good job of telling someone why Sleep No More meant so much to so many people.

Over the past year, I’ve tried to add more detail to my personal experience of the show, and be a little more upfront about what was going on than I could be at the time. For as much as I wish I could claim to be an extremely intellectually even observer of the show and the culture around it, I feel it’s more fair to reveal that in fact, the main driver behind much of my love for this show was that I met a boy, he broke my heart, and I stuck around to let it really scorch me. None of this diminishes what the show meant; is it not the very essence of the show itself? “And then one day, he went away. And I thought I’d die. But I didn’t. And when I didn’t, I said to myself, is that all there is to love?”

Somewhere, back in the day, in an interview I know I listened to but could not possibly source, Felix Barrett said something along the lines of: every visitor to the show should fall in love at least once while inside. And I think he’s absolutely right, and I think every single fan of the show, in their heart, has done so. Hopefully not with the contours of my own experience exactly, but it’s the essence of it. I know I am compelled by powerful scoring, dramatic lighting, dynamic movement, and intelligent intertextuality. But I fall in love with a kind and gentle heart, and a generous spirit that is on a journey and eager to share it. And I encountered quite a few of these over our many years together in the hotel.

I’m also acutely aware that this blog itself played a major role in giving me the life I have today. The job I landed in 2014 was a corporate social media role – one that I landed in part by talking about the work I had done on this blog. I also talked in the interviews about my enthusiasm for the show, and how it had given me a sense of meaning, belonging, and purpose to my intellection. I talked about the struggle my year of unemployment had been with unvarnished honesty, and my manager later told me that was what had clinched it. I learned the kind of storytelling I did in that search here, on Tumblr, talking about this show.

For nearly fourteen years, thinking and writing about this show, and this mode of performance, has been the most satisfying intellectual enterprise I have ever engaged in – far better than all that grad school. I could not have known at the outset that this is where all my critical faculties would be fully engaged, or that several of my obscure interests, my fondness for Arthur Schnitzler or for Thomas Mann, would be extremely relevant. Now, as we begin to look forward, I know that this activity does not end here with the closing of the show. I hope to continue, both in remembrance of what we all experienced, and in anticipation of successor productions in this format, to think and write about this kind of immersive theater. The difference will be that the mask will be off, and I will be writing as Evan, not as Scorched the Snake. 

Saying goodbye to fourteen years of Sleep No More means saying goodbye to several full chapters of my life, and to all of my life in New York City thus far. It is saying goodbye to earlier versions of myself, to someone who was afraid to have to push his way through a crowd, afraid to talk to strangers in bars, afraid to gaze deeply into someone’s eyes, afraid to express desire. To someone not yet open to all the range of creativity that this show and its people have introduced me to. To someone who did not yet know all the brilliant and loving souls who made it all possible. But I am happy to say goodbye to those versions of me; the one I am now is so much richer, so much wiser, so much more connected to a beautiful world than I had ever been before. 

We have had such a wonderful time. The show’s closure is about to tear a giant hole in my life, my habits, and frankly, my personality. I cannot wait to figure out what I will do to fill that void, what insanely enriching and engrossing thing I will feel pulled to next. If there is one paramount lesson of this whole experience, it is that my enthusiasm for something will take me on great voyages when I trust it. We all now just have to trust it.

In just a few days, we will gather for three nights of celebration of this world we’ve made and shared together. In the early hours of Sunday, January 12, we will each exit the McKittrick Hotel for the last time, stepping out into the cold of night, but not into darkness. The streets of town, paved with stars, will glisten and glow before us as we walk away toward our next adventures, forever changed, and permanently enchanted by our friends, our loves and our losses.

“How strange it was, how sweet and strange, there was never a dream to compare.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Greetings, Father! I just wanted to come by to say I've been reading some of your fics again and 🤌 as always, I am blown away by how good it is. Genuinely, reading them always refresh my mind in some ways (?) cuz it's interesting and the dynamic and flow you do is just so vast and yet so very you.

I do have a question and you're free to answer this ask privately or dm or not, I don't mind xD I am curious on your thought process whenever you write smutty fics, what are the things you fuss over? or what are some things you do to keep the vibes going. For me personally, I don't write a lot of spicy stuff but when I do it's hard for me to really capture the raw need and intimacy a lot of the time (not to mention I have this issue where I like writing the buildup and tension than the actual intercourse part LMAO)

Have a good day/night ahead! o7 I've got a few things I wanna draw from your posts so stay tune too hehe :3

Your tags are always amazing; I wake up and read them over my morning coffee and eggs. So good when other fans of the same skrunkly arseholes love your work about said skrunkly arseholes.

Also, your writing is bloody brilliant. Like, the thing you wrote for Nekro? Blew my brain out. It was gorgeous.

As for the smut...

I use personal experience and what I focus on. I find human bodies very fuckin' sexy, even the bits that other people might think are gross (or they might be embarrassed by). The bits they get coy/shy about me touching, the most intimate parts of them. Yeah those are what I want and they're going in my mouth. Admiring all their unique bits, their freckles, the pattern of their hair, the scars and the stretch marks, their curves and bumps. Arousal, for me, should be represented as similar to hunger; instinctual. Because that's how it processes for me.

If you like the build up, then focusing on the sweet relief of it, the dirty talk - "finally got what you need, baby? does that feel good?" - and how that intimacy of being inside someone (or having them inside you), feeling their heartbeat, listening to their little moans, feeling them tense up involuntarily and wiggle cause it feels so good, watching their bodies give or flex into your hands.

I say "you" here. I can't write x reader, but... ya get the idea.

Write one character like they're starving and tucking into a buffet, I guess?

I have varying levels of "hunger" on the dial. I don't tend to get as visceral in longer works because of the "flow" of the narrative. Like, 15k of narrative and then a sudden 7k of one character gobbing on another's dick would be funny and jarring, but, eh.

[penguin--person]

Do you think they neuter mutants at the facility

you sent this ask to the wrong blog ❤️ the pafl confessions blog is here ❤️live laugh love

[mamawasatesttube]

this is still one of the most metal things kon has ever said. god DAMN